Can We Have This
by Viopathartic
Summary: Set the day after the Final Battle, Harry and Hermione grapple with how to move forward with the closeness they'd developed on the run—especially when Ron shows signs of pursuing Hermione. Chapters: 1/2.


Harry had shaved and washed away the grime and blood from the battle, and it almost looked as if he'd erased the last few months of being on the run. But his eyes told a different story and he wore a weary, shell-shocked look that Hermione just wanted to take away from him, if only for a moment.

Hermione felt guilt settle inside her but managed a smile. He let her in, touching her by the waist as she passed. She sat on his bed, and he watched her, hesitant for a while, before approaching her. She didn't know who reached for whom first, but it didn't matter, because _it_ happened: they were in bed together again, like the other times in the forest. They gravitated toward each other. Not out of lust, but for stability and comfort, which turned into kisses. Only that and nothing more.

Harry slid his hand up her arm, and Hermione nuzzled their noses together. Their lips met, soft and pliable. They went at their usual lazy pace. Hermione never thought she'd be the type to find delight in such a simple touch. They'd stopped after Ron's return for obvious reasons. Hermione remembered laying on her cot and facing Harry across the room because it comforted her to know he would still be a few feet away.

He smelled nice, of soap. His T-shirt was cotton but felt like silk. He pulled her close, and she hooked her leg over his, and they felt all of each other in one perfect moment. She repressed a moan, then remembered what had been on her mind only a few minutes before—and why she chose to go to his room. The Weasleys had given him his own space at the Burrow; he deserved it after all.

She pulled away and sat up. "Wait, Harry," she said, dread strangling her voice.

"What?" Harry murmured. He sat up as well and pushed a strand of her hair behind her ear—a gesture that made her lean in.

"I have to tell you something."

About Ron. That kiss in the Chambers of Secret just a few hours ago. How it had happened and how it foreshadowed, in the hours after the battle, Ron's intent in pursuing her. One part of her—the small part that remained innocent after the horror they'd gone through—was elated, a crush come true. The other part, that was to say the many other parts of her, were jumbled and unknown, and she thought that coming here would make her feelings all clear. She needed to hear his reaction.

Harry brushed his lips against her collarbone, almost like an afterthought. "Can't this wait until tomorrow?" His eyes were hooded but not solely from lust. It was from sleep as well, and Hermione realized just how tired she was, too. Soon, as they kissed once more, thoughts of Ron blew away like dust on a book reopened.

Their bodies turned soft. They sunk into the mattress, and their breathing synced. Facing each other, she and Harry touched palms, their fingers lacing together. She tucked her head underneath his chin. They had lain like this the night of their first kiss. The night they nearly lost each other. Words couldn't capture the despair Hermione saw in his eyes, or the pain that stabbed her. Because she had almost left him alone—even if it were involuntarily. She nearly broke her promise.

Hermione closed her mind. She didn't want those memories anymore.

"You're finally free, Harry," she whispered finally.

She felt his grin. "I know."

Then the night took them.

* * *

Morning crept in. Harry watched as light touched the world outside. He sat against the headboard, hugging his knees to his chest, feeling like he was back to his cupboard days, trying to forget the size of himself.

Hermione was still asleep and he didn't have it in him to disturb her just yet.

How could he, after all they had gone through?

Hermione said she wanted to say something, yet he instinctively knew what it was. Right before he parted for the forest, he'd seen the way Ron looked at her, as if she were his anchor and he the boat slowly sinking. He'd just lost a brother. Harry tried to stem his envy, tried to focus solely on the woman in his arms. The one volunteering to sacrifice herself in order to help him.

Now he wished for more time to treasure this unstained moment. The world would erupt in a few hours, Harry was sure. And even if it was all in celebration, he dreaded the act of picking things up where they had ended last.

Including witnessing a relationship that took years to come to fruition, only to be deterred by more pressing circumstances.

He wondered how Hermione would eventually tell him about her and Ron—what words she'd use to describe what they had gone through and what she wanted with Ron. Because it will happen. You couldn't love someone for so many years, then abandon all thoughts about him just after a few kisses with someone else. Years of yearning the way his best friends had done far surpassed his own feelings, he convinced himself. He was too late. He had been blind for far too long.

He was bound to lose her.

It must have pained Hermione to come here. He sensed it in her movements. He stopped her last night before she could say anything else.

He traced her arm, his touch breeze-like. Her shirt rode up just enough to reveal skin, so he shifted the blanket to cover her, not only to resist temptation, but also because he was her friend, and she would likely not appreciate the manner in which he was ogling her.

Friend. Best friend. Harry looked out of the window again. That word was far too simple. But lover was too heavy, wasn't it? It implied more than just kisses and as much as he wanted it to happen, he had to ask: What was he doing? What were they doing?

It'd all change that one horrible day, and Harry wondered how they would ever speak of it again. The blood. The immediate silence. How final it all seemed. She was the only one who knew everything about that day, which terrified him, he realized, more than the battle fresh on his mind.

Hermione began to stir.

 _Just one more minute_ , he pleaded.

 _One more._

He wanted to freeze this moment forever before losing her.

But no. He was being selfish. He needed to stop.

"Hey." Harry dropped down, kissing her fully awake. _One more._ "You sleep OK?"

Hermione nodded. She tried to suppress a yawn, but it got the best of her, and soon she was stretching her arms up. Harry smiled. He watched the rise of her chest. Then she rolled over and hugged him so that he was on his back again. _One more_. He chuckled before closing his mouth to let a shiver run through him, basking in the feel of her sliding her hands under his shirt. This was her version of a morning greeting and she'd done it many times in the tent.

But within a few seconds, she removed herself and sat up again. The space between her eyebrows crinkled, memories flooding back. She brushed her hair back as best as she could, but it was in a state after sleep. One of the things he had loved to see when first opening his eyes.

"Ron kissed me."

* * *

"I know. I figured." Harry paused. "Did you kiss him back?"

"A part of me did." She couldn't lie to him.

Harry nodded and his Adam's apple moved as he swallowed hard. She was taken aback by how even her tone sounded. Same as Harry's. "So what's going to happen?"

She sighed. "I was hoping you'd tell me."

"I can't tell you to do anything, can I?" he said.

 _Do you want this?_ She wanted to ask instead. Because he was being so kind about all of it. Shouldn't he feel angered that Ron kissed her and she—this was where the guilt originated—didn't stop him? Just kissed him back?

Did he think all of this was just okay? Normal? A rush of anger surged through her. "How do you feel about this? What do _you_ want?"

"I—" Something flickered behind his eyes. He was annoyed. He was impatient for her to answer her own question. But she _needed_ to hear what he wanted, because she felt there needed to be a reason for when Ron approached her; she needed a statement of certainty on _something._

Sound bloomed downstairs. They froze, words lost between them.

Mrs. Weasley's voice was still far away but Harry's name jumped out from a stream of words, and she was surely coming up to this room. And she would find them together. Somehow, they couldn't think of what to do.

Suddenly, Ginny's voice chimed in clearly. She was right outside the door. "Let him sleep in just a bit more, Mum."

"Yes, I know, but I thought he'd like to have breakfast. He has to eat! He must be starved." Mrs. Weasley sounded like her old self, but her tear-clogged voice betrayed her true emotions. Hermione wondered how many hours she'd cried for.

"I'm sure, but sleep seems more important."

"Oh very well." Mrs. Weasley sighed. "Now where is Hermione?"

"Back in my room. She's still asleep too." Hermione looked over at Harry, his expression just as confused as hers. Why was the youngest Weasley lying? "Let her be. I'll wake her in a few."

"Has the world ended?" Ginny scoffed at her mother's question. "Ron is up before Hermione and Harry! Well, I suppose I'll go back down to make sure he hasn't eaten everything."

Hermione heard Mrs. Weasley's departing steps but not Ginny's.

"Harry?" the younger girl called through the door.

Hermione felt Harry reach for her hand and she blinked down at his touch. It seemed that Ginny might be looking for him, might have wanted him alone. Might want to talk . . . about their suspended relationship. But her next words shattered the assumption and it untied the knot that formed in Hermione's stomach:

"I bought you guys two more hours, but anything over that is beyond me." Hermione could almost feel her faint smile. She and Harry smiled at each other in wonderment.

They didn't take two more hours, but rather fifteen minutes. In front of the vanity, a Weasley heirloom from the late nineteenth century, Hermione forced a brush through her hair. It was half-assed because she didn't see the worth in fighting it today. And also because Harry, from the bed, was smirking as he watched her futile battle.

"Honestly," she mumbled.

The smirk turned into a full-blown smile.

They both seemed glad that the conversation was interrupted. It dispelled some of the dread—but of course not all of it. Anyway, if they stayed cooped up forever, people would really begin to talk.

* * *

When Harry sat down at the Weasley's kitchen table, magically stretched to accommodate extra people, he smiled at Ginny across him, mouthing, "Thank you." He didn't understand _how_ the girl knew about him and Hermione, but unlike the old Ginny, she seemed to be handling it with discretion. He felt Mrs. Weasley squeeze his shoulder as she passed with a pitcher of pumpkin juice. She'd been watching and perhaps misinterpreted the gesture for something else. On one hand, if it were true, it would be something to make her happy. On the other hand, it would be a terrible, terrible lie to keep up.

Hermione emerged a few minutes later, just like they had silently agreed on. Ron moved over an inch to let her settle between him and Harry. His hand touched her back.

 _It was already beginning._

The Weasleys, save for one, were all present and at various stages with their breakfast. Mrs. Weasley had cooked up a storm and even with the size of the party, it didn't look like the food would ever stop growing. Bill said, "Good fight, Harry." Harry had almost forgotten about the man's scar and looking at him now, it made him appear meaner than he was. Percy, in turn, nodded at him but didn't say a word. Harry felt as if he had interrupted something with his late arrival.

"Sixty casualties for the Light and the body count is still up in the airs for Voldemort's side." Mr. Weasley had to clear his throat before finally saying _Voldemort_. "Upwards of thirty, I imagine.

"The Aurors have taken control of things. The Ministry, with Shacklebolt at the helm, will move forward, as expected."

"Good man," Mrs. Weasley mumbled as she finally sat down.

"What's the damage to Hogwarts?" Ginny asked.

"Even a fortress like Hogwarts will need time to repair. But, with everyone's efforts, we'll get it done," said Mr. Weasley, mustering optimism into his voice.

Everyone nodded solemnly.

"You want more water, Hermione?" Ron whispered, pointing at a pitcher.

"Um, no. I'm fine," she whispered back, glancing quickly at Harry.

Percy chimed in to the previous conversation. He had a half-eaten buttered toast on his plate. "From what I understand, the press is in a frenzy. I've been holding them back, and it might be for just a few days." His eyes landed on Harry. "But eventually they'll want something from Harry."

"Even after what's happened, he's still in work mode," Percy's girlfriend, Audrey, a fellow ministry worker, teased him. She slid her hand over his, and he, as opposed to his younger self, didn't protest. He only turned red.

"Thanks, Perce," Harry answered honestly. It was obvious that the Weasley turned a leaf. He could see Mr. and Mrs. Weasley brimming with pride, despite their loss.

It was silent for only a few minutes as they all renewed interest in their separate breakfasts. Some conversations picked up, but the ebb was like an automobile running out of gas.

Charlie, at the end of the table next to George, cleared his throat. "Now onto another topic." There was a shade of mischief in it. Harry wondered if the older Weasley was trying to fill the space left by Fred. The thought saddened him—and made him guilty because it was such an ugly thought to have. Charlie's words seemed to bring out the smallest of smiles on George's face as he dipped his spoon into his parfait.

Ron was turning red, which told Harry what would be said next. "Hey, cut it out—"

"Apparently something happened in the Chamber of Secrets." Charlie's eyes practically twinkled as they focused on Ron and Hermione. "The Kiss."

The whole table laughed freely—besides certain people. Him, Hermione, Ginny, and—he looked around—Bill and Fleur, though they kept their smiles on. Fleur was the one who'd seen Hermione's scar at Shell Cottage. Not the one from Bellatrix. _The other one_. They had to explain it, of course, and the older woman kept whispering, " _Merde,"_ the whole time. Obviously she told her husband.

But Harry and Hermione didn't say much beyond that—nothing about the . . . _whatever_ that was happening between them.

Harry wished they hadn't mentioned Hermione and Ron's kiss like this. She had of course told him, but to hear it said by others was like a fist in his stomach. Not a quick punch, but a deeper, twisted wound.

"When's the wedding?" George then teased. The smiles, they were so bright. Everyone was latching on to every ounce of happiness in sight.

"George," Hermione protested weakly.

Harry bit the inside of his cheek—hard.

The moment of levity passed. As he and Hermione served themselves a second helping, questions rushed through his mind. He should be worried about other things—having nearly been killed in battle, that Voldemort was gone forever, that the world would need rebuilding from the ground up. Instead, his thoughts focused on the woman beside him, their thighs only a centimeter apart. He wanted to reach for her hand.

When they officially get together, will Ron and Hermione's kissing be anything like theirs? Will they kiss like they'd known each other forever—and in their previous lives?

 _Will it always hurt like this?_

He sipped his pumpkin juice—and paused. Something like tears, he was horrified to comprehend, began to form behind his eyes. It'd been _ages_ since he had something as simple as pumpkin juice.

"I know," Hermione whispered. He looked at her. "It's the smallest things we missed, isn't it? And Harry, you should eat more than that." She slid another slice of toast on his plate. It reminded him of their Fourth Year, walking around the Great Lake. Just the two of them.

"When have I heard that before?" he replied wryly. But he still accepted it. She arched an eyebrow, and he smiled again, just like before in his bedroom. It slipped when his eyes flickered to Ron who was watching them curiously.

* * *

This is just a quick two-shot and the next chapter is nearly finished. So you won't have to wait for another three years, I promise!

I'm all about the angst these days! I'm curious to hear your thoughts and if you liked this chapter. It would mean so much to me, so please review.

And check out my other story INTERFERENCE, which will be updated very, very soon!

Love,

Viopathartic

P.S. Which story started the Pumpkin Pie movement?


End file.
